Above the sunshaded windows, the forward event timer ticked down past minus 44 minutes to de-orbit ignition.
Will Parker pushed a floating, three-inch-thick procedures manual down into his lap. For a moment, the Aircraft Commander took the measure of the forward instrument arrays and the brilliant, inverted ocean outside against the flatly black, starless sky.
“I have the bridge, Number One.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
Enright smiled behind his sticky, hot face mask.
“Tell me again, Cleanne. Please?”
The beautiful young woman with the eyes of a frightened child looked intently at the small woman by her side. The sun of a clear Texas evening shone brightly through the window.
From the setting sun, soft daylight glowed crimson upon the rumpled auburn hair of the younger woman. As they sat on the bedside with their backs to the window, the short blond hair of the older woman glowed warmly. On the nightstand, a round clock showed twelve minutes after six o’clock.
The square bedroom was bright with a child’s stuffed animals and with piles of colorful books about talking animals, fairy godmothers, and trains. In a corner, a short green Christmas tree stood within a pile of brightly wrapped packages. All the little boxes bore “TO MY GIRL’ in thickly printed letters.
“Your daddy and Mister Enright are getting ready to come home, Emily. They will start down real soon. And we can watch them get out of their spaceship on television in just an hour and a half.”
The blond woman looked tired. The angular beauty of her face and her softly dark eyes were heavy with the strain of sounding cheerful.
“That’s my daddy!”
The red-haired, child-woman pointed happily to a Houston newspaper on the floor. Smiling photographs of William McKinley Parker and a youthful Jacob Enright looking like an Eagle Scout were side by side under a banner headline: “SHUTTLE PURSUES INTELSAT-6.” And under that in letters an inch high: “RUSSIANS READY TO ASSIST.”
“What does it say, Cleanne? Tell me again.”
The gentle physician with slumped shoulders tried not to choke upon her words.
“It says your daddy and Mister Enright will be home after dinner.”
“Can we go watch the TV now? Sister Lisa said it’s starting real soon. Oh, please?”
“Emily, I think we should wait until the airplane is really coming home. I mean until we can really see it. Okay?”
The younger woman became serious. Her great eyes studied her happy little tree and its pile of treasures.
“Will Daddy be here for Christmas in this many days?” The red-haired girl worked her hands together to hold up seven fingers. She licked her upper lip as she got her fingers up. “This many?”
The blond woman gently laid her arm upon the girl’s thin shoulders.
“I’m sure of it.” The physician sniffed once, softly.
“Daddy said Mister Enright would take care of him.” The young woman raised her happy face to the exhausted physician who turned her wet eyes away.
“Mister Enright promised, didn’t he, Emily?”
“Left air data probe lever-locked stow.”
“Right air data probe, ADTA Two, circuit breaker, Main bus B, Overhead Panel-15, Row E, closed.”
“Closed.”
“Air data transducer assembly Four, Main C, Overhead Panel-16, Row E, closed.”
“ADTA Number Four, closed.”
“Overhead Panel-6: MDM at FF-2, on.”
“Multiplexor-demultiplexor, Flight Forward Number Two, on.”
“MDM, FF-4, Overhead Panel-6, on.”
“Flight forward, Number Four, on.”
“ADP Right, lever-locked, stow.”
“Air data probe, Right, lever-locked stowed.”
“And, ADP stow to inhibit.”
“Right ADP inhibited,” Enright confirmed as his left hand touched the center console between himself and Parker.
Karpov intently watched the two serious pilots cover page after page of pre-descent checklists. Depending upon which pilot was closest to the switches and circuit breakers being checked off, one airman challenged the item while the other read back and touched the switch. The two armed air data probes were stowed within the cabin walls. They would deploy into the slipstream outside after Endeavor was well within the atmosphere.
Endeavor flew upside down over the north Pacific 1,436 statute miles due west of San Diego. The mission clock ticked up through 09 hours 18 minutes and the event timer ticked down past 37 minutes to de-orbit ignition of the right orbital maneuvering system rocket.
Inside Mother’s four primary General Purpose Computers, re-entry program OPS-3 was running. The fifth backup computer rode shotgun on the four main computers. Computer program Major Mode 301 supervised the de-orbit preparations.
“TACAN, Jack.”
The crew flipped to the checklist page for warming up the three navigation beacon receivers which would listen for the Okinawa instrument landing signals. The TACAN receivers would give the pilots range-to-go vectors when Endeavor acquired Kadena Air Base’s beacon 500 miles from Runway 23 about 19 minutes after hitting the atmosphere.
“Breaker AC-1, Panel Left-4, Row P,” Enright read aloud.
The AC touched the round black circuit breaker at his left elbow.
“Closed, Jack.”
“MDM, Flight Forward One, Overhead Panel-6, on.”
“On.”
“Channel select flight control system, set.”
The AC turned four thumb-wheels to bring a four-digit code into tiny windows.
“Flight control system channel set, set, set, and set.”
“TACAN Number One, mode select, Overhead Panel-7, to GPC.”
“Number One to General Purpose Computer.”
“Antenna select, Overhead Panel-7, auto.”
“Automatic.”
“Overhead Panel-7, tone ident off.”
“Identifier off . . . TACAN Number One ready.”
The crew repeated the TACAN receiver protocol for receivers Number Two and Three.
“Endeavor, Endeavor: Configure AOS by Goldstone at 09 Hours 20 Minutes.”
“With you, Flight.”
“Copy, Will. We remind you of sunset in 10 minutes. We want you to shoot a final P-52 alignment after sundown. And you can dump the 0I data now. We’ll update your state vectors in 2 minutes. For data dump, use high bit rate, please.”
“Rogo, California. Operational Instrumentation comin’ atcha. We’ll get the balls aligned at about 9½.”
As Parker spoke, he could see the inverted Pacific outside as Shuttle cruised a thousand miles west of Baja California. The AC could not see land on the hazy western horizon. The ship flew heads-down, tailfirst, ready for the OMS burn. Enright double checked his side of the cockpit to confirm that Shuttle’s three main engines remained slightly retracted within the square tail section for protection from reentry’s searing fury.
“Okay, Jack. MLS Number One: Breaker Main A, Panel Overhead-14, Row E, closed.”
“Closed.”
“MLS One to off, Overhead-8.”
“Off.”
“Channel select, Overhead-8.”
“Set, set, set, and set.”
The three receivers for the Microwave Landing System were checked. These instrument landing beacons guide the 100-ton glider’s final approach when the ground’s beacons are picked up by Mother 12 miles from the runway at an altitude of 18,000 feet. The crew checked out MLS receivers Two and Three.
“Next, radar altimeter, Number One: Breaker, Main A, Overhead-14, Row E, closed.”
“Closed, Skipper.”
“MDM, Flight Forward One, on, Overhead-6.”
“On.”
“Radar altimeter One, off.”
“Number One, off.”
The routine was repeated for radar altimeter Number Two. These two ground-sensing beacons come on when Endeavor descends below 5,000 feet. These C-Band radio signals are vital to the las
t 100 feet of the final approach to landing.
“Endeavor: Your data dump is in. Your state vectors are now coming up. Colorado standing by through GDX.”
“Rogo, Goldstone . . . Aerosurface amplifiers, Jack. Number One ASA.”
The aerosurface electronics receive and generate computer commands to guide Shuttle’s aerodynamic control surfaces: the elevon-ailerons on the back edges of each wing for roll control and pitch control, the tail’s vertical rudder for side-to-side, yaw control and turn coordination, and the tail’s speed brakes. ASA black boxes also work the body flap under the tail for center-of-gravity, trim control during descent. Four separate flight control system channels work the four aerosurface activation loops.
“FCS, Number One, channel select, lever-locked auto, Panel Center-3.”
“Auto,” Parker replied as he touched the center console under his right arm.
“MDM, Flight Forward One, Overhead-6, on.”
“On.”
“MDM, Flight Forward Two, Overhead-6, on.”
“On.”
“Flight Forward Three, Overhead-6, on.”
“On.”
“ASA, Loop One, on.”
“Overhead-14, Main bus Alpha, ASA Number One is on.”
Aerosurface loops Two, Three, and Four were readied for coming home.
“Coming up on the edge by California, Endeavor. With you after de-orbit burn by Botswana in 36 minutes. Keep your feet dry and keep your airspeed up, guys.”
The starship’s final Stateside pass ended in static as Shuttle left the range limits of the Goldstone, California, antenna. The mission clock showed 09 hours 25 minutes and the event timer began the last 30 minutes of counting down to de-orbit ignition command. Endeavor’s ground track never touched the continental United States, home. She would not make a major landfall until Peru in 3,300 miles. The winged spacecraft arced down the North American western coastline, barely visible on the far purple horizon to the east of the inverted ship.
“Landing gear brakes, Jack. Main bus A, Overhead-14, on.”
“Main Alpha, on, Will.”
“Main bus Bravo, Overhead Panel-15, on.”
“Main B, on.”
“And, Main Charlie, Overhead-16, on.”
“Main C, on.”
“Your side, Jack, Panel Right-4, brake heater hydraulics A, on.”
“Alpha, on.”
“Brake heater hydraulics B, to on.”
“Bravo, on.” Enright touched the cluttered panel at his right elbow.
“And, heater C, on.”
“Charlie hot, Skipper.”
“ ’Kay . . . Nose wheel steering: Circuit breaker, Overhead Panel-14, Row E, Main bus A.”
“Bus Alpha, closed.”
“And my side, Panel Left-2: Nose wheel steering, mode select to GPC.”
“My side, Will, Right-4: Landing gear hydraulics isolated valve Number One to GPC; Number Two to GPC; and, Number Three also to General Purpose Computer.”
“Check, check and check.”
“Your side, Will, Panel Forward-6: Landing gear PBI to armed. And my side, Panel Forward-8, gear pushbutton indicator also armed.”
“Armed, Jack. My side, Left-4, Row P: Circuit breaker, landing gear sensors One and Two, closed and closed.”
At 09 hours 27 minutes, Mission Elapsed Time, Shuttle darted headsdown over the small speck of Isle de Revillagigedo, 730 nautical miles west of Mexico City. Only Alexi Karpov aft saw the little brown island through his window above his head. The sea 150 statute miles below was in deepening twilight although Endeavor had a broiling white sun low in the west out the front windows.
The AC turned up the forward flightdeck lights and he pulled off the tinted sunshades from his one front and two side windows. Enright did likewise.
“Horizontal Situation Indicator, Jack, my side and yours, select entry mode.”
“Entry logic loaded, Skip.”
The 6-inch-square glass instrument in front of each pilot’s chest would display side-to-side trajectory errors during descent.
“And my side, Jack: Entry roll mode select lever-locked yaw/jet rudder.”
“Yaw/jet rudder, Will.”
The clock above the center windows on the cabin ceiling showed 09 hours 30 minutes and the event timer above Parker’s right knee ticked down past 25 minutes to de-orbit ignition.
“Won’t see that again for a while, Will.” Enright blinked through his moist mask toward his right.
“Guess not, Jacob.”
Outside, to the southwest, the sun flattened against a dazzling orange horizon. The inverted ocean below was already black as Endeavor carried her three wards into Shuttle’s seventh sunset in 9½ hours. A thin red band stretched above the brighter orange band for the full length of the slightly curved, upside-down horizon. With a rapid change from orange to bright purple, the red flat sun winked out leaving the starship in her last frigid night in orbit.
“I got her,” the AC called as he pushed the illuminated CSS pushbutton on the glareshield overhanging the forward instrument panels. He energized Control Stick Steering to powerup the rotational hand controller between his thighs. The pilot in command wanted to feel his ship live in his hands. He twitched the control stick. Mother instantly chose the best combination of RCS thrusters in her nose and ruined tail to roll the starship rightside up for one final star sight in darkness. A cold, alabaster-white moon hung low in the northeast sky above the dark horizon as Endeavor executed her slow, wobbly wingover in the eternal silence.
Three minutes after sunset, Shuttle headed south across the Equator for her last transit of the Southern Hemisphere and her last summertime aloft. Directly below, the darkness swallowed the Galapagos Islands 600 nautical miles west of Ecuador.
“Ready on the Auxiliary Power Units—what’s left of ’em.”
“Ready APU Two and Three, Skipper.”
“Okay, Jack. Let’s do ’em both together. We’re gettin’ short here . . . Your side, Panel Right-2: Controller power lever-locked on.”
“Two and Three, on and on.”
“Fuel tank valves, lever-locked open.”
“APU, Two and Three, open and open.”
“Ready.”
“Two and Three, barber-polled ready to start, Skip.”
“Speed select . . . Let’s go with high on Two and normal on Three.”
“Two high; Number Three normal speed.”
“Hit it, Jack.”
“Number Two APU, Ignition! RPM and exhaust gas temp okay.”
“Number Three, Jack?”
“Number Three APU, Ignition! . . . Nothing, Will. Going to override-start . . . And Three is running. RPM and EGT are Go.”
“Super, Jack. Hydraulics circulation pump, Two and Three, on.”
“On and on . . . Pressures green.”
“Main hydraulic pump pressures, lever-locked normal.” “Two and Three, normal and normal, Will.”
“APU auto shutdown, enable.”
“Automatic shutdown, enable Two and Three.”
“APU Number Two: Fuel pump valve coolant, Loops A and B, auto.”
“Valves A and B, automatic . . . At least we can steer her.”
The Auxiliary Power Units are essential to move Shuttle’s wing surfaces for airplane-steering in the lower atmosphere.
“Star-trackers running, Jack. P-52 running.”
Mother and her two sensors scanned the dark southern sky.
“Make it a good one, Skipper.”
The AC moved the control stick between his legs to shift Endeavor’s nose to the northwest. Peering into the COAS periscope tube, he found the bright star Altair in the constellation Aquila 15 degrees above the black horizon on a magnetic bearing of 280 degrees True.
“Star Number 51, mark!”
Enright entered Altair into the computer at 09 hours 36 minutes, MET, over Peru.
Since the COAS cannot swing across the sky on its own as can the automatic star-trackers in Shuttle’s nose, Parker
turned the ship heads up to the southwest. High in the sky, almost overhead at 60 degrees high, he found the bright star Fomalhaut in Piscis Austrinus at a compass bearing of 220 degrees True. High Fomalhaut with faint Al Na-ir in Grus constellation 20 degres lower and Peacock in the constellation Pavo 15 degrees closer to the southern horizon formed a three-star line from Shuttle to the South.
“Fomalhaut, mark!”
Enright tapped Star Number 56 into the computers.
“One more for good measure, Skipper.”
Parker steered Shuttle’s nose toward the northeast. He squinted into the COAS sighting-mirror as Capella in Auriga slowly crossed the COAS crosshairs 10 degrees above the horizon and 40 degrees east of north. Capella was faint below and left of the brilliant moon.
“Number 12, mark!”
“Got it, Will. Let Mother chew on that.”
Mother reduced her own star sights from the two startrackers and Parker’s sights. While she worked, the AC removed the COAS tube from the ceiling brackets and stowed the little sextant away.
“IMU aligned all balls. Well, Jack. Mother knows where we are anyway.”
Over nighttime Bolivia, Endeavor was commanded to roll over until she was flat on her back for the OMS burn only 15 minutes away. The ignition of the single OMS rocket from the ship’s crippled tail feathers was all that stood between Endeavor and home.
17
“They are now in darkness over the mountains around Sucre, Bolivia. Revolution seven. Retro fire in 14 minutes.”
The big man raised an eyebrow as he scanned the wall plot board beyond the glass greenhouse suspended above the floor. A tiny bug followed a curved line across the video projection of the Earth’s middle latitudes 40 degrees above and below the Equator. Above the large screen, one clock displayed 00:41 GREENWICH, another, 19:41 EASTERN STANDARD, and the third digital clock read 00:09:41 MISSION ELAPSED TIME.
Four tired men in open, rumpled collars were at table with large, grim Admiral Michael Thomas Hauch.
An afternoon nap had revived the sailor who looked less worn than the men around him. By the vault door to the basement bunker, two young Marines stood rigidly like pillars of salt.
The Glass Lady Page 36